A Question of Intelligence
by Jezebel Malice
Summary: I’m tripping over shoelaces while standing on tiptoes to see over many leafed and leather bound friends of hers, trying to see every detail of her.


Oh look I've done it again! New story: it's cheesy and fluffy. Mmm, fluffy cheese. Enjoy.)

DISCLAMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or imaginary places. They are owned and created by J.K. Rowling, published by Scholastic Books Inc, Bloomsbury Books Inc, Raincoat Books Inc, Warner Brothers Inc, and others. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A Question of Intelligence

Her fingers are covered in ink today; editing friends' essays and getting ahead on her own. Parchment slivers embedded in her fingertips. I watch her pinch the bridge of her nose from between the stacks. She's even gorgeous with frustration coursing through her system, and with all of the piles of work surrounding her.

She's haphazardly put together this evening, still not out of her school robes entirely. Her white button-up unbuttoned just so, with her tie askew, and her denim jeans have a hole in the knee and fray at the heels. Her hair – oh her hair – it's falling over her shoulders and getting in her eyes, egging on her frustrations. It's cute really.

My own clothes feel constricting. It's too warm in the library. These black pants are rubbing against my skin uncomfortably, and my tee shirt barely contains my hot flesh. I'm tripping over shoelaces while standing on tip-toes to see over many leafed and leather bound friends of hers, trying to see every detail of her.

I notice a small smile cross her features when she finds it. I buried it between two of my shorter homework assignments that she so generously said she'd take a look at. It isn't anything too long, but she is visibly more relaxed and vaguely distracted, a blush creeping upon her.

On cue I hurry back to the commons.

My sneakers beat against the stone floor as I run. She should be dreamily picking up her books, gathering her parchment and quills, and putting it neatly in her book bag. Then she'll be dragging her heels through the castle, feeling nervous – anticipating.

I whisper the password to the Fat Lady and she mutters complaints about kids being in a hurry. I dash up the stairs to my room to grab the necessary tools. I can't help but grin at my own brilliance. My fingers tighten on my tools as I rush to the head girl's dorm.

She's waiting when I get there. She's curled up so tantalizingly beneath her crimson bed sheets. "I was beginning to get worried," she giggles. "So do you have everything?" She nods toward my tablet.

"Yes," I grin bashfully. Where is that courage now? Cowering in the presence of beauty; it isn't like we haven't done this before. "You get comfortable, while I get situated." I find a cozy chair and open my drawing book. Pencil in hand I begin to sketch the delicate curves of Hermione Granger.

I've traced her body many times, memorized every last inch. I could draw her with out her here, but this is much more fun. I can feel my heart beating harder as she stares into me from half way across the room. "Thanks again for modeling for me, I really appreciate it."

She smiles a small shy smile, "No problem really; only slightly more enjoyable than reading over your potions essays." And then she laughs lightly. Cracking a half smirk and shaking my head I add the heaviness to the contours of the drawing. She's beautiful and I can feel her stare as I draw the fine details in her face. She has something on her mind, and desperately wants to say it. She chews it over in her mind a few moments longer before she opens her mouth again, selecting the words deliberately and carefully.

"I'm not stupid you know," picking fake fuzz of the bed sheets when she speaks; making glances from beneath her eyelashes.

I look up at her, "We all know you're not stupid, you have the highest marks of anyone in your year." I'm hoping to avert her with comedy. Maybe?

"You're ridiculous," she huffs in exasperation flopping onto her back.

"Ugh!" She just _had_ to move. "I was almost done," whining just vaguely. Sighing, and needing to know what she meant, "What do you think you know that no one else does oh great and nerdy one?"

Her arms are sprawled across the bed, barely covered by the sheets now; she takes her eyes away from the ceiling to look at me. Her hair is falling gracefully down the pillow and her dark green eyes are searching me. "You like me, don't you?"

The heat of a blush is rising from my neck to my face like a rash, "Well, you're a wonderful subject. I couldn't have asked for a better one." I offer a weak smile.

"You know what I mean," propping herself on an elbow. I can't help but pretend to draw again, flipping to the next clean page in the tablet. A quick sketch was already developing.

"I'm not sure that I do," I know she knows. She knows everything.

"Ginny, why don't you just be honest? You think I can't see the way you grab every little detail from my body? You make me into a goddess," she likes to question in that bossy 'I know everything already' sort of way. I keep my eyes on the paper for a while longer, feeling too self conscious and embarrassed to look at her anymore. "Tell me you wouldn't die happy if I asked you to climb into bed with me, right now." She's obviously memorized the fine print of my text.

What the fuck little games is she playing. Granted that yes, I do want her; did she really need to call me out? Right here? Right now? I look up, "What do you want me to say? Yes, I would do anything for that. How do I know you want that?"

Her eyes suddenly have a different look to them; a hooded glazed stare. "Why do you think that I beat you up here for once?" She blinks, "I'd love to have you here." With that a smile creeps upon her features.

I swallow, suddenly finding I no longer have any spit. "You do?" She affirms, nodding slowly. I gaze back down at my drawing and look at the coy look I've drawn on her face. I flip quickly through my sketchbook. She has been staring back at me like that in all of the drawings I've done.

"Stop looking so bloody surprised," she sits up. Her amusement is barely contained, as is her body within her sheets. I blush and she rolls her eyes, "Just come on." I set my tablet and pencils down on the bedside table, knocking a few to the floor. When I bend to pick them up I swear softly. "Hey," she says, "don't worry about it." Nodding and turn back to her.

She beckons me closer and I gingerly seat myself next to her. Crimson is slipping down her breasts and I find myself being pulled by my shirt. Her mouth presses against mine and I suddenly forget the longing and loneliness. She is here, now, opening her lips for my tongue. There was a reason she was grinning when she read my note.

Cloth from my shirt is still gripped in her fist when we stop to take a breath. Her eyes still have that glossy quality and I can't help but stare. Her pink mouth is oversized and opened slightly, her sheets no longer covering, her hair sticking out in several directions; all the while breathing as if she had ran a marathon. She's beautiful. "You okay?" I whisper. Nodding again, she notices her nudity letting go of the black cotton and pulling up the red satin, breaking the spell she was under.

She smiles a little weak, "I'm sorry. You know, you don't have to do this. This was a stupid idea. I can't believe I thought—"

"Hermione," she stops rambling at the mention of her name. She looks at me eyes wide, as though she forgot I was there. "You just need to shut up now." I lean in and kiss her again. Her arms automatically drop the sheets and wrap around my shoulders, one hand toying with my hair. I have one hand supporting myself and the other wrapped around her gathering her closer.

I can feel us recline and I have to crawl on top of her. Things get frantic and she's grabbing the hem of my shirt. Her mouth is on my neck when I turn to kiss her ear. I don't realize she's saying anything until it registers that she isn't kissing my neck anymore.

She's looking at me expectantly, "What?"

"I asked if this was okay," tugging again the hem of my shirt. I only nod and help her remove it. I begin kissing her again and she nimbly unhooks my bra, sliding the silken material off of me. Tracing her nails down my back, I can't help but enjoy her supple flesh; grasping her breasts, grouping her legs. I can feel her hands on my shoulders pushing me back a little.

"What's going on?" My brain is a little foggy.

She reaches down to the button of my fitted black pants. "Would you?" She asks coyly. I stand, so she can see me. I show off my half-naked glory and semi-gracelessly slide my pants down. _So much for being sexy_. All she can do is grin, "Panties?" I can feel her eyes burning patterns up and down my legs. I follow her command and wait for a response. "You can come back now."

My skin feels hot against hers. I shiver when he meet, reveling in that raw electricity and intimate feeling of skin against skin. Thighs finding their own ways to give pleasure, we move in time, quickening pace and heartbeats. I can feel something warm gathering deep inside of me, slowly spreading from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes.

She's speaking near incoherence as she grinds harder against me. My vision is fuzzy when I hear a moan bubble from the back of my throat. She's grasping my hair and kissing me hard. I can feel her tension when I bury my face into her neck. She strains against me and digs in her fingernails when I've reached the drop off at the point of no return.

After the shuddering subsides I roll next to her and she curls against me, her head on my chest. I kiss the top of her head. She's absently playing with my hair and I sigh. It's happy and content. She smiles against my fevered skin. "What has you smiling like a fool?"

She lifts her head to look at me, "You." My eyes crinkle when I return her smile. She kisses me softly one last time before cuddling back into me.

(A/N: It was terrible and you loved it. Review.)


End file.
